Bunnies In The Snow
by Angel360-Devil0
Summary: A great December evening goes bad quickly when the last person Emma wants to see arrives at her door.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Aheh. Ahehehehehe. Sorry I went back on my word...again. But here's another little ditty to tide people over for the month. I can't promise steady updates, as per usual, but I can promise good dialogue and lots of fun. Yes, from Emma and Will, not from the smart aleck Sunshine Gang. They're not coming back until the spin-off series in February. I just hope you enjoy what little will be here.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, or its characters, or its premise. You know the usual stuff I'd do, like have Brad ****team up with the AV kids** and shoot everyone on sight or make Sue slap Rod Remington, that kind of jazz. Also stuff about Will and Emma having sexy-times. The Misfits can join in too. Not the sexy-times, just the show.

* * *

_"What is it you want, Mary? What do you want?" George Bailey points up to the sky with a twinkle in his eyes. "You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey, that's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon."_

"_I'll take it." Mary smiles and turns to George. "Then what?"_

* * *

Then there is a knock at the door that brings Emma Pillsbury back to reality. She isn't in Bedford Falls like George and Mary are. No, she is in her apartment in snow-covered Lima on a December evening watching _It's a Wonderful Life_, just like every normal Christmas-loving person. She despises the knock as the movie is paused; anyone who interrupts her during the best Christmas movie of all time is certain to be hated. With a sigh, she opens the door, and the man's face relaxes instantly.

"Emma."

Not who she was expecting at all. Anyone but _him_. He who made out with Shelby and slept with April, he who asked if she was no longer a virgin, he who kissed her knowing full well she had a boyfriend, he who made it very clear that he was extremely jealous—more than once. The _nerve_. "Oh." Her therapist and boyfriend had boosted her confidence to let her have an iota of courage in front of anyone.

"I, um…I want to talk to you about what's happened the past few months between us."

Hearing his voice shakes her to her core when it isn't supposed to do that at all. And there is no "us" as far as Emma is concerned. "There—there's nothing to talk about."

"Emma," he steps through the door and closes it after him anyway. In response, she takes a step back. "please. I really need to talk to you."

"No, Will, you know what? I was watching a movie that I would like to get back to—please." She sits back on the plastic-covered couch and picks up the remote, ready to press the play button.

"I heard Carl broke up with you." It makes her shatter like glass. The remote slips from her hand as she curls up sobbing. Why does he have to remind her? The wound is so raw on her heart. It makes her want to hurt Will, but all she can do is cry. She is still frightened, scared, hurt, lonely, and the counseling has done nothing to ease her pain. Did Carl even ease the pain when he was around? She thought he did, but now…"Hey," she heard Will squeak onto the couch, and instinctively, she crawls to the edge to cry alone. "Emma, I came here to talk about that…and where we stand now."

"So…so you're just moving in on me now, huh? Getting me when I'm weak?" She picks her head up and turns to him with bleary eyes and all. "Well, I'm not weak. I'm strong, and I don't need you to help me feel better."

"I don't doubt that at all. Every day, I see you…getting stronger. You're beautiful when you're strong. Did Carl ever tell you that?"

A sniffle. Some tissues on the table are quickly pulled and dabbed on her cheeks. "Yes. He always told me, every day." Emma feels herself sobbing again. "I just—I wish I knew why he annulled our marriage! We were doing fine! I was getting better! He didn't give me a reason! Just…he just left!"

"Emma, Em…" She isn't herself. Will is quite scared that he won't be able to help her; after all, he has only been in one and a half relationships and neither turned out so well. He scoots over to her side and tries to hug her, but she curls into an even tighter ball of despair. Then he sees a pink bowl on the table with something inside. "Were you eating ice cream?"

"No…" She pulls a few more tissues and dabs her cheeks again. "homemade sorbet. No dairy."

"You made it?" She nods and he chuckles. "That's wonderful."

"Will, can you leave? I want to be upset with my sorbet and movie, not with you."

He shakes his head. "You know I can't do that until we figure us out."

"Don't you get it, Will? There is no 'us' anymore." She places a used tissue neatly on the coffee table.

"Emma…" He grabs both of her hands tightly. "there's always been us. Even when I was married, even when you were with Carl…you know that. And…I really want to say sorry."

"You already said you were sorry for Shelby and April."

"Not for that. I'm sorry I couldn't prevent your heartbreak," he sighs and looks at the pink bowl again. "You're in grey sweats and a grey jacket. Your hair is dull, your eyes…they're blank—."

"Anymore compliments you'd like to give me, Will?" She tries to get her hands loose so she can do something, but he just holds on and looks her in the eyes.

"But I know you can be beautiful. Your hair can shine like the sun; your eyes can glitter like rubies and, unlike what other people may say about you, I love your fashion sense. But it's not just the outside; it's never been just the outside. Everything about you, especially the homemade sorbet, I love."

She smiles to humor him. "That's nice, but I need to be alone."

"We've, uh, been without anyone for months. It's just been us talking and helping each other out. Can't we take the next step now, so close to—?"

_Ding dong_. Emma is saved by the bell at her door. "Excuse me." After wringing her hands out of Will's grasp, she opens the door slightly to find Mrs. Doris Hossmeyer, the landlady of the apartment complex with a small smile on her face. She is a charming, slightly chubby middle-age woman with slight crow's feet and fine wrinkles around her mouth, but manages to remain jovially young no matter who she meets. "Good evening Emma."

"Good evening. Is there…something wrong?"

"Although you're not planning to go out tonight," she says after an once-over of Emma's clothes. "I've been telling all of the tenants that the streets outside have started to freeze and there's a dangerous blizzard outside. The weather report says it's one of the strongest ones Lima has seen in a few years. Have the lights gone out already, dear?" she asks while peeking past Emma.

Emma slowly looks behind her to a hopelessly waiting Will. "I'm watching a movie, so I usually turn off the lights."

"Just make sure all of your flashlights and what have you are working just in case the storm takes out the city's power. I understand someone has come to see you?"

"A fr—colleague from work," Emma quickly corrects herself.

"Ah. Well, tell your guest that they won't be able to go home tonight, not with the weather outside. You really shouldn't have asked them over."

"But—" The lights flicker for a second before coming back to full intensity. "I thought the complex had a back-up generator. My food can't spoil…"

Mrs. Hossmeyer smiles, creasing her fine lines. "It'll be all right Emma. It's just me being worried. I'm sure the back-up power will kick in as soon as the main one goes out. Have a good night darling."

"Good night," Emma says before gently locking the door behind her.

"I'm a colleague now?" Will asks incredulously as Emma sits back down on the couch.

"Don't start Will," she sighs, frustrated at her luck. "We'll save that for another time."

"I'm staying here then? I'll take the couch."

"I'll get you some sheets later; you don't want to sleep on plastic," she absently replies. "How—how did you get here anyway, with the blizzard outside?"

He leans back into the couch. "When I was driving here, the snow wasn't falling so hard. And there's antifreeze in the gasoline."

"Well, I guess there's nothing else to do but watch with me. Do you like this movie?" she asks him while picking up the remote.

"I love this movie," he smiles as she presses play to continue the discussion between George and Mary.

* * *

"_Well, then you can swallow it, and it'll all dissolve, see? And the moonbeams will shoot out of your fingers and your toes and the ends of your hair—" Abruptly, George stops his tangent. "Am I talking too much?"_

"_YES!" the old man curiously watching the couple shouts. "Why don't you kiss her instead of talking her to death?"_

"_How's that?"_

"_Why don't you kiss her instead of talking her to death?" the old man shouts again._

_George, confused and a little peeved, looks down to a just as confused Mary and then back to the old man. "You want me to kiss her, huh?"_

_The message is lost upon them, the old man realizes. "Oh-h-h-h, youth is wasted on the wrong people!"_

* * *

They both laugh at the line as the man walks off the porch and out of the scene.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, reviews are appreciated and highly encouraging! Once again, I hope you enjoyed what's here!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Here we are again, with three days to Christmas! No, I won't have this done by Christmas, but hopefully by the New Year. I had a bit of trouble in the beginning; I ran into a bit of a writer's block, but yesterday, I found my direction, shook off the block, and managed to get the chapter done. Disclaimer is in the first chapter. Enjoy.

* * *

"_Dad, how do you spell 'hallelujah'?" Pete Bailey asks his father innocently._

"_How should I know; what do you think I am, a dictionary? Tommy, stop that, stop—Janie, haven't you learned that silly tune yet; you play it over and over again and now stop it, stop it!"_

* * *

Not even seven minutes have passed since George pleads with Uncle Billy about the lost eight thousand dollars that Emma begins to cry again. She reaches for the tissue and dries her eyes unsuccessfully—since more tears are coming out—as George kicks his construction models and silently looks over at his children. When poor Janie begins to cry, Emma completely loses her composure and sobs uncontrollably.

Will pauses the movie once again and the sound from the TV quickly dies. "Hey, Emma…"

She chooses not to listen as she tries to calm herself down. "I," she begins between choking sobs that almost kill Will's heart. "I've nev-never fin-fin-finished the movie past this p-point in t-t-three y-years-s-s."

"What?" Will whispers to himself. "Why?"

"I did once," she begins steadily. "but by the end, I was sobbing uncontrollably and used an entire box of tissues."

She reaches for the box and begins pulling out over a dozen tissues before Will stops her. "Whoa, whoa, you don't have to do that Em. Look, I'll put on subtitles and mute the movie so all you have to do is read what's going on. You won't have to hear their voices and tear up. You're not pretty when you're upset; it breaks my heart."

"Again with the compliments," she whispers bitterly. "You had to work in such a cheesy line!" she begins to laugh.

"It's not cheesy! It's the truth!" Will hangs his head in mock defeat, which makes her giggle softly. Deciding to keep his despondence over her obliviousness—whether intended or not—to the truth, he says flirtatiously, "You know you liked it."

She decides that he's doing all of this because she prefers not hearing any of the characters speak. "If you turn on the sound again, promise you won't say anything cheesy," Emma proposes. "It is all for my happiness, after all," she grins. "And as an added bonus, I'll even scoop some sorbet for you."

"Hm…you drive a hard bargain," he chuckles. He stares at the frozen screen of George looking utterly exhausted and thinks for a few seconds, pretending to have a hard time choosing when his mind is already made up. "I'll take your offer, but on one condition: if you need to cry, just tell me and I'll pause the movie. My sleeve can be your tissue. You're not wasting anymore of your tissues."

Emma, unlike Will, doubts her decision-making skills. She specifically vowed not to let him break her heart again months ago, but here he is being gentlemanly and offering the promise of a beautiful night despite the storm outside. He even brings out the funny and flirty side in her, something she enjoys secretly to fill the empty space Carl left behind. They have a strange dance around each other now, she has admitted many times, but what will happen if the dance breaks? And especially now that it's Christmastime, the queen of couples' holidays. Will has always been ready to take that step, but Emma? "I'll get you that sorbet."

Will's eyes light up with twinkling happiness, not unlike the happiness she saw in George's eyes when he was with Mary an hour ago. "Thank you Em. You won't be disappointed in the rest of the movie."

* * *

"_Clarence! Clarence! Help me, Clarence! Get me back! Get me back; I don't care what happens to me! Get me back to my wife and kids! Help me Clarence, please! Please! I wanna live again. I wanna live again. Please, God, let me live again."_

* * *

As George continues to cry, the image suddenly disappears and the entire room is dark. The windows rattle from the storm outside, and Emma suddenly remembers, "I forgot to check the flashlights!"As she quickly rushes from her seat, she trips over a table leg and lands with a thud.

"Emma!" Will carefully, but with urgency about him, navigates to where he saw her outline collapse. "Hey! Are you okay?"

"Yes, I can get up…and no," she sighs in defeat. "no I can't." They stare awkwardly at each other until a buzzing starts and the light from the TV illuminates their faces. "I could use a hand, please."

"All right," he says as he takes both of her hands and pulls her up. "I guess you don't need to check those flashlights anymore."

She shakes her head. "I'm going to turn on the light and take care of the bruise on my foot."

Puzzled, he looks down to her feet. "But you don't have a bruise."

"I'm going to put ice on the area as a precaution," she replies as she begins to limp toward her door.

"Can I help? Ah!" The light forces him to shield his eyes as they adjust while Emma turns around from the door, eyes closed.

"No thank you," she sweetly declines while opening her eyes and limping across the room to the kitchen.

And then he notices her face for the first time. "Hey, how much did you cry so far? I don't remember you keeping up your promise of using my sleeve as a tissue." She ignores him while filling a bowl with ice cubes and limping to the bathroom down the hall.

"Will, you know I don't use foreign cloth to wipe my eyes," her voice finally echoes from the bathroom.

"But isn't a tissue foreign as well? It's not like you oversee the production of them."

"The box comes in a clean wrap. It's the best I can get without breaking my budget with a handkerchief."

A near-infallible idea comes into Will's head at that point. He grins to himself as he asks another question. "Carl never bought you one?"

After she wraps the ice in a cloth, she limps out to the couch and carefully sits down, brow furrowed in deep thought. "It never came up." As Will finally locks in his plan of action for Christmas, she extends her wounded foot across the covered couch; she thinks to herself, _I wonder what that means for my relationship with Will…_she shakes herself out of the bad thought quickly though. "There's still room for you on the final cushion at the end. Do you mind?"

"I don't mind at all," he says with grace while sitting on said cushion. "And…" he looks over to Emma, only to see a tear fall from her eye. Silently, he pulls a tissue from the box and extends it to her. "Do you need it?"

"Thank you." She takes it and uses it slowly and surely. "There—" she stops, stays silent, and starts again, "I'm not sure why the topic never came up with Carl."

"Well," he sighs. "you were healing with him, so you probably never needed one. You were always happy—"

"But I didn't feel happy," she whispers to herself, a whisper that was not well concealed since Will heard it.

"You weren't?" He's astounded by the revelation.

"Don't act like you couldn't see it; you must have been so happy he left me," she says bitterly.

"Emma, you know I wouldn't wish a break-up on you or anyone else. Carl and I had our differences, sure, but he was making you better and happier, which you couldn't get from me at the time."

She extends her hand futilely for the tissue box, saddened by her malicious thoughts, and he decides to give her the entire box instead. "Ah…well, I couldn't really see it either. Not until he left me did I really start to think about why we even married in the first place. I—I felt like the happiest girl in the world, and then I was the saddest. My love life has worked like that for the past three years."

"Next year is the "end of the world." Maybe your luck will turn then," he smiles, hoping that the joke got across all right.

It did. "Maybe it will."

They stare at each other dazedly, not awkwardly like normal, and they both remember at the same time: "The movie!"

"Do you want to keep watching? If it was making you cry more, my other offer is still available," Will suggests.

"Let's keep watching with sound. Could you turn off the lights? They're—" Before she can point to where they are, Will is already up and turning off the lights.

"Emma," he begins as he sits down and she is looking through the scene selection of the movie menu for the scene they are stopped at, "just out of curiosity—and you don't have to answer it if you don't want to—but what part made you cry the most so far?"

"When Mary didn't recognize George. I don't know what would happen if I woke up without the love of my life not recognizing me," she elaborates on her choice.

"I'll always recognize you, even if you don't consider me the love of your life," he says slowly, with a sad look in his eyes.

"I thought I told you no more cheesy lines!" she chides as she lightly slaps his shoulder.

"But it's true," he mutters.

"Anyway, what was the saddest moment for you? And if you say the same one, that slap will be harder," she says, barely keeping a serious face.

"It wasn't, although it came really close. It's at the part we stopped at." He gestures to the screen, where George is at the rail, crying for a second chance. "These last few minutes of the movie, I'll admit, leave a tear or two in my eye each time. So don't be surprised if you see me crying." _It's sort of second nature to me now_, he leaves off.

"At least you're not afraid to admit it," she smiles as she starts the movie again.

* * *

"_Hey George! George!" Bert yells as he gets out of the police car and finds George. "You all right? What's the matter?"_

"_Now get outta here Bert or I'll hit you again! Get out!" George threatens as he backs away from his friend._

"_What the Sam Hill you yellin' for George?"_

"_You—" A realization dawns on George and his eyes widen. "George. Bert, you know me?"_

"_Know you? Huh. You kiddin'? I've been looking all over town trying to find you! __I saw your car plowed into that tree down there and I thought maybe you—hey, your mouth's bleeding. Are you sure you're all right?"_

"_What did—?" He licks the side of his lip and tastes blood. As he feels the side of his mouth, he's never been happier to be back. "Hahahaha! My mouth's bleeding Bert! My mouth's bleeding!" His hands immediately fly to his waist. "Zuzu's petals…Zuzu—There they are!" he shouts as he holds the mass in his fingers. "Bert! What do you know about that?" Keeping the mass of petals in his hand, he exuberantly hugs Bert before running back to town. "Merry Christmas!"_

"_Well, Merry Christmas!" Bert, slightly puzzled, shouts after him anyway._

_

* * *

_**A/N: **As a little note, if you haven't seen It's a Wonderful Life yet, I highly, highly recommend it. When you watch the piece of dialogue above and the rest of the movie after that, it'll make you one very happy person. I can't possibly convey the sheer excitement behind James Stewart's acting in the excerpt above. Anyway, reviews are appreciated and loved dearly!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **I have good news and bad news. Good news first! A new chapter! Yay! One more to go until it's entirely finished! But with that there's some bad news. I'm leaving on a vacation tomorrow. I thought my plans had fallen through until I found out Christmas Eve that I was going after all. I'll be gone four days, until New Year's Eve Eve (December 30th), but it means I won't have the final chapter up before New Year's Day. I'll probably end up delaying until January 2nd at the earliest. Boo on me. I hope this chapter will be more than enough to appease you while I'm gone. The real good stuff will come in the final chapter. I think everyone will be happy with what I have planned. So nurse your Christmas dinner hangover with something warm to drink. I hope everyone got grand presents. Disclaimer is in the first chapter. Enjoy.

* * *

"_Auld Lang Syne" is being sung in the background while George admires Clarence's gift, his copy of __**The Adventures of Tom Sawyer**__._

"_Look daddy! Teacher says, 'Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings!'" Zuzu chirps to her parents as a bell on their Christmas tree rings._

"_That's right," George replies. "That's right," he says more joyously as he brings his wife and daughter closer. He winks up at the sky. "Atta boy Clarence."_

_The chorus of townspeople in George's home finishes "Auld Lang Syne" as a ringing church bell appears with THE END emblazoned over it in large white letters._

* * *

Emma is beside herself with emotion, so Will, barely managing to keep himself together, picks up the remote and stops the film. "Did you like it?"

"It's a beautiful movie," she gasps between sobs and pulling tissues out of the box.

"Hey, save some for me," he says as he pulls a few out to dab the water forming at his eyes.

"I—I wish I watched the whole movie sooner," she laughs softly before ungainly blowing her nose. "Maybe you wouldn't have to deal with my crying. It's not making me look good."

"No, Emma, I'm a guest in your home. If anything, I should be saying sorry for having to sleepover. It's probably a big burden on you." He puts his hand on hers unintentionally and looks into her eyes, waiting for a favorable response.

She gives him a strangled smile. "It's not a problem. I'll get some sheets…do you mind taking the bowls and spoons to the sink?"

He starts picking up the empty bowls while she turns on the lights, places the makeshift icepack on the kitchen island, and searches for clean sheets, a pillow, and a cozy blanket. She refuses to let her pain show to Will, lest he get anymore chivalrous ideas.

"Emma! Emma!"

She speed walks, sheets, pillow, and blanket in hand to the couch and sets them down neatly on the couch. Upon looking up, she nearly has a heart attack, for Will is right next to her.

"Oh my gosh, don't do that again," she says with her hand held over her heart. "What's the problem Will?"

"Um…I shouldn't bring it up because it'll cause problems, but, um—"

"Then I'm sure it's not a problem if I don't know about it."

"What—?"

"Now, you don't have a toothbrush, do you?" She begins to unfold the sheets and stretch them to cover all three cushions of the couch. "I have plenty of extras, so you don't have to worry about that. I have cups in case you want to use mouthwash and lots of floss. If you need to change the thermostat, tell me and I'll do it. I'll leave the door to my bedroom open a bit, so if you need anything, just ask. Hold the pillow and the blanket please; it's just for—"

"Em, Em," he lightly pats her shoulder, which causes her to slowly stand upright and stare at him with wide eyes. "you're rambling, which is cute—" Realizing what he has said, he quickly switches gears. "Look, I can make the bed myself. You should be taking care of your foot."

She shakes her head, a mix between stunned and confused. "You said yourself that you're a guest in my home. It is my job as hostess to make sure you are informed of—"

"You're doing a wonderful job, but I don't need it right now. I'll ask you when the time comes for everything. Calm down, all right?" He reaches out his hand to touch her face, but sensing what is about to happen, Emma takes a step back.

"No cheesy moments, remember? If you want to take a shower to warm up…or cool off…" she adds as an afterthought. "I'll get you a towel. Unless you prefer morning showers, in which case I'll set one aside before bedtime." She goes back to stretching the sheet over the final cushion and enveloping the pillow in another plain sheet.

Will, wounded, stands idly by as she sets everything up for him. It makes him feel bad, using her that way, but since she's refused any offer for help—more than once tonight—it only makes him more determined to somehow find a way to help her. And the absolute best he can do is being a good friend. "Wait, I thought that deal was over after the movie!"

She bites her lip lightly, remembering that the deal was not absolutely specified. But there is no point in arguing over it right now; it can be saved when he is more tired. A shower might help, she deviously plots. "Do you want to take a shower tonight?"

"Um, sure."

He doesn't refuse, to her delight. "Splendid. However, I need to shower first, because…well…"

"Of course."

"If you want to watch anything, there's the remote." She begins to limp away from the main room to her bedroom to pick out her sleepwear for the night.

"Um, Emma?" he asks as she quickly gathers what she needs, including giving a towel to Will.

"Yes?"

"Thanks for letting me stay over and being so kind to me," he says bashfully.

"I couldn't just leave you outside." She furrows her eyebrows at his strange compliment. "But you're welcome anyway." She gives a final smile before disappearing into the bathroom down the hall.

* * *

Will is nearly asleep, listening to the laughter from a late-night sitcom, when he hears:

"Will, it's your turn."

A few scents wake him right away as he sees Emma standing over his near catatonic figure. One is fruity, like some sort of shampoo or soap, and the other is distinctly minty, which meant she already brushed her teeth. He eyes her outfit dazedly before realizing she is dressed in the same nightgown from last year, the lavender affair that brings her straight ginger hair out so well. She has grown to love the nightgown mostly for its easy flow, but it did leave her cold tonight. So why was she wearing it?

"Oh, um…towel…" As he picks up the towel at his side, he notices Emma looking away and off to the side.

"Call me if you need anything. I have the toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, and the cup for mouthwash all set aside for you on the bathroom sink. You can find me in my room, okay? Goodnight Will."

"Wait! The problem—"

She turns around, only a few paces away from him since he has decided to follow her like a strange lapdog. "Again, it is not going to be a problem if I don't know about it. Goodnight again."

"Emma!" It is now or never; he needs to tell her what exactly is on his mind before she says goodnight for good.

"Yes?" She barely manages a smile instead of a flash of anger on her face.

"You smell beautiful."

She is taken aback by the comment. It should have been anything, _anything_ but something like that. Maybe another question or some absent comment about the movie they watched together. She could have even settled with another mention of "the problem," whatever it is. But all of that isn't important to what he said. They are just three little words, but then again, she also knows something with three little words that has graver implications (and has been used on her at least three times in the past two years), so for now, she takes the compliment with grace, but quickly convinces herself that it is because she does not want to seem like an ungracious and petty host. After all, all of that love business is behind them now.

"Thank you…" However, her defenses slip and color slowly comes into her already somewhat flushed cheeks.

To her chagrin, he notices. At his proximity, it is impossible not to notice. "You're blushing, aren't you?" he teases.

"What?" she questions. "I—I don't know what you're talking about. Take your shower and go to sleep; goodnight." She speed walks to her own room.

"Wai—!" But the door is closed on him, so he decides to formulate a new plan while getting ready to sleep.

* * *

Will stands at Emma's bedroom door, inhaling and exhaling slowly, going over the new plan in his mind. He pulls his white T-shirt a bit and wipes imaginary dust off his boxers, hoping that Emma won't mind what he's dressed in. He opens the door to a room illuminated only by a bedside lamp. She isn't reading or on her laptop—wherever it may be—but sitting against the headboard of the bed, looking straight in front of her as if she is in a trance. It is almost as though she is waiting for something to happen.

"Emma, I, uh, want to say sorry again. This must be extremely awkward," he begins while glancing at his scanty sleepwear. It would normally be sans T-shirt, but walking around shirtless in the home of a woman sensitive to that sort of thing didn't feel polite.

"I should be saying sorry for my behavior a while ago. But now I'm willing to hear you out." She focuses on him now, averting her eyes from below his torso. "What was that problem you kept talking about?"

"Nothing. It's been solved," he says, but it doesn't seal the deal for her. She is in need of information, which Will begrudgingly obliges with. "I didn't know what I was going to wear to sleep for a while."

"As long as you aren't naked—which you aren't—it's fine. I told you it wasn't going to be a problem."

"Yeah, I guess so."

They awkwardly chuckle before staring at each other for what feels like eternity, but is not more than two minutes.

"Well, um," Will starts. "the blizzard is still going on outside?"

She tilts her head slightly. "I forgot to check." She gets out of bed, puts on some cozy matching slippers, and peers out the window nearby. "There's a lot of snow outside. Let's hope it clears up by tomorrow."

"You don't want me here," he remarks bitterly.

"Oh no, no, of course I want you here—better than out there," she quickly adds to hamper any tension between them. "My window is becoming icy."

"I've missed you a lot Em."

She does not respond to the comment, but instead says, "You can say whatever cheesy thing you want to me now. The movie is long over."

"Oh." He licks his suddenly dry lips. "Thanks."

"If you need anything, just come in and wake me up, all right? I'm not a very heavy sleeper."

"Yeah." Without letting his cunning show, he adds, "I really like what you're wearing. It suits you."

She bites her tongue. It's a trap, definitely, but for what reason or its purpose she cannot figure out. The bed that she is sleeping in is cozy and inviting. "I haven't worn it in a long time."

That's all he needs to hear for a good night's sleep. "Goodnight Em." As a part of the ruse, he doesn't wait for a response as he walks back to the couch.

"Ah…goodnight Will," she whispers before turning out the lamp. The main room's light and the canned sitcom laughter quickly follows.

* * *

**A/N: **Reviews are appreciated! I'll try to reply to as many as I can before I leave, but if I don't get to them before I leave, I will when I come back! Be sure to drink your Ovaltine. And since I won't have an update on time to say it, Happy New Year! May all of those resolutions come true!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Hey, I've been back from my trip for a few days now, just recuperating. Hope everyone had a great New Year's. But now onto serious business. Just as I predicted previously, I ended up having to split the final part up. But next chapter is the last one! Hooray! I put a lot of hard thought into this, more than usual, actually. Probably because I couldn't get my thoughts completely straight about 90% of the time. Thanks to **Jax** for giving me pointers on these next two chapters and helping me keep my thoughts in line long enough for a vague order to form. So, disclaimer is in the first chapter. Enjoy everyone!

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When Will's eyes creak open slowly, he immediately notices that something is wrong. It is completely dark, the kind of dark that is confused with having eyes shut, so it definitely isn't morning. He knows there's no going back to sleep because the blizzard makes the window rattle and someone shriek. Something definitely isn't right with his blurry thoughts as he sits upright, keeping the blanket close to him since it is still cold. His mind clears up quickly as he hears heavy breathing, and, thinking it is a burglar, slowly slides to the end of the couch and turns on the light to startle the criminal.

"Ah!" a mousy voice hisses. Will recoils at the light as well; he has been asleep for a few hours prior. "Will, did I wake you?"

There's something strange about her voice. Curious, Will peeks from behind the couch to see a toppled chair and Emma slowly getting up. "I…I thought you were a burglar."

"You should have had a weapon if you were going to attempt to defend me," Emma comments, reading Will's true intentions without even seeing his face completely.

"I was going to, uh, get one—if turning on the light didn't work."

"Wow. Okay. Um…ow…" She tries to regain her bearings as she puts the chair upright and slowly sits down in it. "Okay, okay, Will, I need your help. There's a cloth on the dish rack…put some ice in it and give it to me, please." He obeys her and the makeshift icepack is on her foot in a minute. "Sorry for waking you up like this."

"No problem. I had trouble sleeping anyway." It is a lie, but a good lie so Emma will not feel burdened again. "You did too, I guess."

"No."

"Then what are you doing up?"

"I was looking for bunnies in the snow."

He walks to the window and peers outside to darkness. "Emma, what are you talking about? There's nothing outside."

"I saw them though. A tiny family hopping along in the blizzard, looking for some shelter."

He holds back a sarcastic chuckle, lest he anger her completely. "Em, that's not why you can't sleep, is it? Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." She closes herself up completely again, unwilling to let him back in to see any of her faults.

He tries to pry her open to no avail. "Well…I'd like to talk with you."

"Really; I know you want to go back to sleep," she remarks, keeping her gaze fixed on the window and the snow howling outside.

"The blizzard's been keeping me up."

"Same for me."

"No, it's not." He blocks her view of the rattling window and kneels down to her eye level, keeping both hands firmly gripping the sides of her chair, barely touching her thighs. "Do you know why I know that? Because if it were just the blizzard, you wouldn't push me away."

She stays aloof and stony. "You seem sure of that."

"I know you."

"You don't," she shakes her head. "No one really does."

He clears his throat, preparing himself for the ultimate tirade long coming to her. She especially deserves it after the repeated rejection he has suffered so far in one night. It makes him explode. "I know you. You opened up to me about the dairy farm incident when we were still friends; I'm sure you hadn't told anyone outside of your family before me. And that's because I cared enough to ask you, and you cared enough to reply back. We danced together in that wedding dress store. We've had very…intimate moments as friends. More than a few close calls. Some happy times too, until everything got confused between us."

"That wasn't my fault," Emma simply mutters.

"It was out of our hands, okay?"

"You still don't know _me_," she reminds him.

"But we're the same, Em! We've experienced rejection, been together, misunderstood each other, waited for each other, been friends to each other, and been damaged by it all. We're searching for the same thing, that happy ever after with the perfect person. I thought I found that with Terri; I didn't. You haven't found it twice, but I know you're looking for it. I've noticed something in all of the time I've had to think about how I got here. You're always so happy to be married, because it'll be someone else to help you sort yourself out. You think you'll keep them close and they'll help you forget about the past and everything with it. But the problem is that whoever you're with, no matter what you do, there's always whoever you were just behind you. You think there's something wrong with that former person, the person that loved me as more than just a friend but loved our friendship anyway, who willingly told me about herself and always offered a helping hand. That's your true self that you shouldn't be running away from. There was nothing ever wrong with that person. You've improved her "crazy," but you've forgotten about everything else, the parts that made you complete to me. Let me help you find her again. Give us a second chance."

She sits, frozen, staring with her unusually large eyes. But she seems to have let the entire speech pass her by. Will sighs in defeat and pushes himself up. "I'm sorry for that. I'd been thinking about it for so long…I went too far. I'll find somewhere else to stay at in the morning."

"Will—" It barely comes out as a whisper. When she notices that he's paying attention to her, she continues, "what you just said…it sounds like something from a movie. Something about breakfast."

Puzzled, Will comes back to Emma sitting alone with her icepack and sits on the clean windowsill, hands gripping and loosening his boxers. "I, uh…I don't know what movie you're talking about."

"It has that song, the famous one. You know…" she clears her throat and begins to sing, "_Ba-dum-bum-bum, ba-dum-bum-bum, moon river, wider than a mile_—" He shows no signs of recognizing the tune, so she continues singing. "_I'm crossing you in style someday…oh dream-maker, you heart-breaker, wherever you're going, I'm going your way_—do you know it?"

"Is that all of the song?"

"No. Um, there's only a little more. _Two drifters, off to see the world, there's such a lot of world to see. We're after…the same…rainbow's end. Waiting 'round the bend. My Huckleberry friend, moon river…and me."_

"Oh, uh, _Breakfast at Tiffany's_, right?"

"Did you see the movie recently?" Emma plainly asks him.

"Yeah. It was on before I went to bed a few nights ago, so I watched the whole thing. Good movie."

Emma lets out a frustrated groan. "I knew it."

"Knew what?"

"You copied from Paul's monologue to Holly before he goes off to find Cat at the end."

"No I didn't!" Emma glares at him. "Okay, only a little bit." She groans at his guilty admission. "Hey, at least I told you the truth!"

"That's nice of you," she retorts sarcastically.

"I've always been truthful to you. Always."

"You don't need to tell me that; you've told me a million times," she says bitingly again.

"And I'll keep telling you a million more times until you realize that you need to start being truthful to yourself."

Emma is stunned into silence again as tension thickens the air, but Will stays true to his conviction and does not back away. If the truth is ever going to come out of her, now is the time. That giant speech should have reached her, and her stunned silence is showing that. But she suddenly begins to look pained.

"Emma—"

But he is interrupted by her loud laughter! "Oh gosh, Will! I'm so sorry; I was trying not to do this in front of you, but oh…that speech and what you just said were the cheesiest things you've said so far! Oh!" She keeps laughing, ignoring Will's disappointment.

"Em, it's not funny."

"I'm sorry." She quickly regains her composure. "I'll leave you to go back to sleep. Good night again." Will lets her dump the ice and leave the cloth to dry, but he follows her to the bedroom, hatching a new plan to get her to admit her true feelings about him.

"We still need to talk."

She has not noticed him until this point, so he has the advantage now. "Will, there's nothing to talk about. Just go to sleep."

"Stop this Emma! We put it off long enough; we need to talk about this now. Look at me." He begins advancing on her and closes the door after he's in the room.

"No," she whispers, backing away from him and slowly moving to her bed.

"Look at me!" Unwilling to upset him any further, Emma decides to humor him. "What I just said isn't cheesy because it's the truth. You need to come to terms with yourself and what's happened to us over the past year and find out where we stand." At this, she falls back onto the bed, and he keeps her there simply by looking down at her. "I know that I love you. I've known it for over a year now, but you were with someone else. I tried to get away from it, but it didn't work. I'd always be back with you." He reaches out his fingers to graze her face for the first time that night, something he finally decides to act on. "You're cold."

"Yes. But I have a warm bed, and so do you. Let's talk in the morning, okay?"

"No, I told you I'm not going to delay this anymore!" He crawls on the bed, pushing Emma all the way to the headboard. Their breath hits each other's faces and their eyes are locked, not focusing on anything else around them. "I need to know…despite everything you've been through with Ken and Carl…and me…if you love me after everything that's happened."

"I can't…" A tear rolls down her face.

"You can, Em. It's me, your best friend at work, the only one there who really cares about you," he pleads with her.

"I can't…" she sobs, bringing her hands up to her face. She even feels cold despite her warm sweatshirt…until something lifts her from the headboard and envelops her in warmth and strength.

"I pushed you too far this time Emma. I'm sorry," he whispers soothingly, pulling out all of the romantic stops as he holds her close while she continues to sob into his T-shirt. They stay this way until the sobs stop. "I'll go. See you in the morning."

Emma feels even colder without his warmth around her. "When I was seven, before the dairy incident, my family and I were on vacation in the mountains. I was alone, making snow angels and snowballs, when I saw five white bunnies nearby. I wanted to pet the smallest of them, so I got up to go after them. It didn't take long for me to trip over myself and land in the snow face first. It was soft, so I didn't hurt myself…" She braces herself for the next part of her monologue, but also to keep the mucus coming from her nose at bay. "but they got away. Just hopped away into the snow. Instead of going after them, I cried for twenty minutes. By the time I made up my mind to go after them, my parents found me and had to drag me kicking and screaming to the resort lodge we were staying at. I don't need to say it, but my brother wasn't happy. My father was clueless about how to help me, so my mother helped me through it. She said…she said I saw Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-Tail, Peter and their mother Mrs. Rabbit on their way home, because I used to love the Peter Rabbit stories. She convinced me that I made the right decision by staying put; otherwise I would have endangered their family and my own. But every time there's snow, I always look for that family or a family just like it. I've never found them, you know. I don't think I ever will."

Will expects more from her, but Emma doesn't say anything else as she snuggles under the blanket. "That…that's an interesting story Em, but, uh, why did you tell me that?"

"I thought you wanted to know why I was looking for bunnies in the snow."

He smirks. The way she says it is so childlike, but highly endearing. "Goodnight Em." He reaches out to fondle her wispy hair on a whim. She doesn't react, however, because she's somehow fast asleep. "Sweet dreams."

He slides off the bed, closes the door to her bedroom, makes his way back to the main room, gets on the couch, turns the lamp off, and goes back to sleep. He's cold, near shivering, but the thought of knowing yet another piece of Emma's life, especially pre-dairy incident, makes his heart warm. Maybe tomorrow has hope for their future after all, he thinks before dozing off completely.

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**A/N: **Reviews are lovely and appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Haaaaaaa, I'm so exhausted from typing over the past two days! I was supposed to have it up yesterday, but that didn't work out, and earlier today didn't work out when I GOT A WRITER'S BLOCK IN THE LAST FEW HUNDRED WORDS OF THE CHAPTER. Normally I don't rant like that, but it needs to be said. The end became a total witch with a 'b' to type out, if you'll pardon the language. But alas, I think the ending is okay nevertheless. **The author's notice at the end will have a few important announcements, so stick around to read those.** Disclaimer is in the first chapter. Enjoy.

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A few hours later, the cold greets Will once again, but this time, he can actually see his surroundings, meaning morning. As for the time…he looks around to find no wall clock. The dining table has nothing on it and no one is in the kitchen making a yummy breakfast. Emma would be doing that. She's probably an excellent cook, he muses. But there's still the matter of the time as he rubs tiny bits of eye crust away and paces around the couch to warm up. He swears he saw a wall clock last night…but it can't be helped now.

The blizzard is long gone, thankfully, but it has left a thick blanket of snow on the streets. Will is briefly sad at his prolonged stay, but he makes it into a good situation: if Emma isn't convinced by the time the snow is cleared, then he will give up. He's confident about his bet; both of them are between relationships and would like to strike one up soon. Emma's denial just a few hours ago makes that clear to Will.

The window is icy, so there is no use in opening it for the winter chill. And there's still the matter of time, which he keeps forgetting about every other second. Maybe it is telling him that time shouldn't matter. And in a more devious light, maybe it is telling him to use the unknown amount of time left to search for ways to worm his way into Emma's psyche more than he already has. The only place to do that, however, would be—in her room.

He gulps at the thought, making him tremble all over. He doesn't consider himself terribly conniving compared to the likes of someone like Sue (he shudders at the thought of her placing baby monitors in his home over a year ago). In fact, despite his prowess in swing dancing and informal show choir choreography, he's quite ungainly on his feet. Therefore, he realizes that his chances of getting caught by Emma are very high.

But when he closes his eyes for more than a few seconds, he seems them together laughing, enjoying each other's company before flashing to a wedding, and finally to little redhead children with smiling faces covered in sticky grape jam. It hasn't left his dreaming or waking life for nearly a year now, not even while out on other dates. It was the only thing keeping him after her for so long, a desperate need for his life-consuming vision to become a reality. It would be out of his head once and for all that way. He reaffirms that need to himself right then and there. With steely determination, he paces to her bedroom, opens the door, and quickly closes it after him, breathing hard as though the first part of his quest was the first leg of a triathlon.

Where to look now? His eyes dart to a large set of drawers, an armoire, and both sides of her bed before settling on the one place that may have the key to her past: the bookshelf. The floor is carpeted, so he can walk a little more naturally, but it becomes uncomfortable to do so as he approaches her reposed body.

She looks vulnerable and a little frightened in her sleep, but it suddenly switches to a calm face, almost as though his presence calms her. The idea makes him smile; he doesn't even have to soothe her by touch, just his presence. Or, in a dark flash of doubt, it could just be chance. But it can't be, he reasons. They've been in each other's lives for almost four years now; each of them prevented the other from leaving the school at one point in time. Both of them waited for one another repeatedly. It has to be fate that lets him have such a profound effect on her.

As he reaches out to stroke her face, his rational side suddenly reminds him: _the bookshelf_. He stops and searches through each shelf of classics and romances before stooping to the bottom to find a few large hardcover books with no fancy spines and not a speck of dust anywhere. They are also pretty thick and don't have regular paper in them, which can only mean one thing: photo albums. _Jackpot. _To add onto his good fortune, they are all labeled in chronological order by years. He decides to pick the one marked _1979-1989_…her first ten years. Young Emma must have been cute, he reasons, and besides, there may be pictures of her family's winter vacation she told him about.

But tragedy strikes. When he opens the album to a random page, the spine crackles as though it is being opened for the first time and the special pages rustle loudly. Out of shock, he slams the book closed, which finally causes Emma to stir out of her sleep. He lies flat on the ground face first, shutting his eyes tight and praying that she is too tired to look at the floor. Thoughts of doom run through his head. His chances are always low when his luck turns sour. What would Emma say if she finds him, most importantly?

He doesn't need to ponder the question much longer because he feels two feet on his back and hears a shriek. "Oh my goodness!"

He slowly turns over onto his back and looks up at Emma's wide eyes and messy bed head. He must play it cool to ease her fright; it's not becoming of her. "Morning. I thought you could use some company. You looked worried in your sleep."

Wrong thing to say; her eyes grow wider with even more panic. "How long have you been in my room?"

"Just a few minutes. And before you ask, I slept well after our talk last night."

A forced smile appears on her face for a millisecond. "Good." Her hyperventilating slows down until her breathing becomes normal again. "Now, why did you actually come here?"

"You don't believe me?" She shakes her head. "I did also come in to check the time…"

"I see," she says, nodding in affirmation. "It's a few minutes after 8 AM. Do you always wake up this early?"

He searches his memory. "Yeah. Weird, right?"

"No, of course not." Finding nothing else to say, she scoots to the other side of the bed and walks to the door hook to take a matching lavender robe. "What would you like for breakfast?"

"Whatever you'd like for breakfast."

She rolls her eyes while fastening the knot around her waist. "Wonderful. Do you like your eggs sunny-side up?"

"Sure."

"Black coffee?"

"Mhm." He can't wipe the stupid grin off his face. He's so close to his goal that he can practically taste success on his tongue.

There's no reaching him when he has that love struck look in his eyes. Emma just shakes her head again and leaves him alone. Unknown to her, the photo album has been covered by Will the entire time. He takes it out, leaves the room himself, sits down on the couch, and begins thumbing through the photos. Emma doesn't notice because she is humming a familiar tune while preparing their breakfast.

* * *

Before Will knows it—since he is looking back through Emma's youth—breakfast is ready. The smell makes him stop browsing first, and then the sound of sizzling eggs. "Em, it smells wonderful."

"Thank you, but it would also be wonderful if you stopped using 'wonderful' to describe everything," Emma calls from the stove.

"But the food is…and so are you."

She wants to protest to how stupid that sounds, but she remembers that she lifted the ban on him last night. He always gets her while she's weak, it seems. So instead, she flawlessly scrapes the eggs onto each of their plates and presses down on the French press coffee mug on the table.

He takes all of this in with a big smile on his face when he gets to the table, hiding the album behind his back until he can slip it onto an empty chair next to him. "Whoa, what is that?" He points to the French press on the table.

"Coffee maker. They're very inexpensive. Plus it's fun to push down the knob and have coffee made fresh. It's better than the school's coffee maker," she adds with a little smile.

"Great. Oh, sorry." He grins. "Wonderful."

"Just eat Will," she commands while pouring the coffee into two mugs. "The food is going to get cold."

He takes a bite of the eggs. "Yum." His eyes flick up from his food to her. "You haven't changed a bit."

She nearly chokes on her food. "Sorry?"

"You've kept that bobbed hair and that…look about you from your childhood."

Her eyes widen before she sets down her knife and fork on the plate. "You've been looking through my photo albums. I thought I saw one missing."

At least he gave a good run for his plan before being found out. However, he sees another way out. "You looked so happy in those photos."

"I was different back then."

"I know that." After all, he never forgets that her dairy accident happened at age nine. The photos correspond with that; they mysteriously thin out after 1988. "But I think you can get it back. Don't you see that I want to help you with that?"

"I can do fine on my own," she stresses in her tone.

"But I still want to help you! And…I know you want me to help you too. But you can't admit that to yourself or to me for some reason."

He expects guilt on her face, but there is none. She blinks a few times, but picks up her knife and fork to continue eating her breakfast and drinking her coffee. And it hits him: maybe he's pegged her wrong all along. Maybe she really has moved on and he's the one who hasn't. He stares at her unexpressive face, focusing on her cheeks with the slightest touch of red in them. Maybe it's too soon to even consider taking that next step, if at all.

He decides to continue eating and calls off his self-bet. He has all of the information he needs now.

* * *

"The breakfast was great Em. That coffee was just…I need to know where you got the maker," he says as he steps out of the bathroom fully clothed and ready for a new day, a new beginning of sorts. The smile he has on is hard to maintain, but he manages to keep it anyway.

She looks up from taking the sheets off the couch. Normally, she would have replied to his compliments, but she is stunned by what he's wearing. "Will, why are you dressed?" She is still in her nightgown and robe, after all.

"Isn't it obvious?" He approaches her with a growing sadness in his eyes. "I'm leaving." His eyes dart about the room until he finds his coat, hanging on a hook by the door, and walks to it. "I crossed the line with you too many times last night and this morning, and once again, I'm sorry for that." He puts on the coat and ruffles it a few times to get used to its heavy feel. "I can't stay around here knowing that I've pressured you so much…that we're over and done," he whispers. "I probably shouldn't have come here in the first place," he says bitterly.

Something changes in Emma when she hears those words. It's something like…anger, and sadness, and longing thrown in. It's a strange mixture brewing inside of her when she suddenly blurts out, "You're just going to leave? We're not going to talk about what happened anymore?"

"Well, you kind of indicated that we can't be together." When she attempts to protest, he continues. "I don't want you to have to lie to me. I know you didn't want to say anything last night because it would mean lying to both of us. Let me be mature about this, for once."

He gives a sad smile and begins to open the door when she suddenly cries, "Wait," and grabs his hand. "the snow hasn't cleared outside, in case you forgot," she mumbles, suddenly losing all power behind her voice.

"I'll find someone willing to let me stay until the snow clears."

"No one in this apartment will be willing," she says, regaining her voice.

"I'm sure someone will, Em." He scrutinizes her as her breathing remains the only sound besides the groaning of the heater turning on. "Unless you want me to stay?"

The connection is suddenly lost as she lets go of his hand and regains her stoicism. "I just don't think anyone else would have—"

He just chuckles as he removes his jacket and puts it back on the hook. "You could have just asked." For the first time in their odd relationship, he leans forward and lightly kisses her on the cheek. "That's my thanks for letting me stay until the snow clears," he whispers, his breath tickling her ear.

The effect on her practically makes him jump with joy: a very slight swoon. It's a start on something, and although it isn't her in his arms right away, that bet can be put on again. How the mind changes in the span of a day, he thinks in a sudden moment of philosophizing clarity.

"So we might have the whole day until the plows drive through town; the blizzard was pretty strong last night," he says as he finishes taking off the sheets Emma neglected and folding them neatly. "We should talk about something."

For the first time since last night during _It's a Wonderful Life_, she laughs—genuinely. "I'll make some more coffee and pull out a few movies. What would you like to talk about?"

"Okay," he arches his back away from the couch before noisily plopping onto it. "when you're done with that, I left the photo album on a chair at the dining table. We'll open the album to a random page, and I want to know the memory behind each photo." He twists his head back to her measuring coarse coffee grounds for the French press. "That okay with you?"

"Wonderful," she says, smiling again. "But this is going to take a while to make if you liked the coffee from breakfast so much. Is there anything else that you want to talk about?"

There's the obvious what they'll do when the snow clears, but there's also another topic that pops into his mind, one forgotten in his mad quest to get her to say exactly what she won't admit about their relationship. "What was the funniest part of the movie last night?"

She ponders the question as the water for the coffee boils. "I think it was when. . . ."

And so the day goes on.

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**A/N: **First off, a thank you for the lovely reviews, alerts, and favorites! I know I haven't gotten any in a while since it's been a week or so since the last update, but it's something. Writing this old idea from two years ago now was an absolute blast. Challenging. But onto more pressing matters. My profile has an announcement which I will republish here:

**January 5, 2011: **Look at this cool beans revamped profile! New year, more changes. Now, you may have noticed that I've deleted quite a few stories. A few I'm revamping for publication, others I've tossed for good. My days as a fanfiction writer, and maybe a writer in general, are numbered as the time I've alloted myself for writing dwindles and my interests change. Maybe it's my self-confidence; I consider myself a poor writer that needs a lot of improving. It can't be helped, I guess; I've only been writing for around three years. I've lost touch with my TDI roots of POV switching, so whatever is coming up next from me will most likely be POV switching or from first person POV. I'll be done with third person for a while. It's time I moved on to more original ideas if I'm going to continue writing, but I'm not sure. I'm going to be taking a break as soon as I publish the final chapter of **Bunnies In The Snow** at the end of the week, but I'll still accept beta requests. Once **Glee** returns, I may (or may not) have a new fic out on the Sunshine Gang from **Baked**. I'm still fleshing out their personalities. I may repost a revamped **Out Of Towner **(with a changed title, most likely) since I liked writing it so much around the same time, but again, I'm not sure. I'll keep everyone posted.

On a final note, the link to the picture that inspired the title of this fic will be on my profile for those interested. Again, my love and loads of thanks goes out to everyone who has reviewed, alerted, and favorited this fic!


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